Liberty

by Andrea Portes

  I guess Raynes feels the same way, too. “Wow.”

  He grabs my hand as if to say, Isn’t it cool that we’re here, together, in this beautiful place? You and me?

  I hold his hand but want to jump out into the snow and become a snowman.

  We drive down a long, tree-lined driveway to the dacha, lit up for the party. Even through the windows, you can hear the music practically shaking the snow off the ground. Missy Elliott. “WTF (Where They From).”

  Sidebar: I love Missy Elliott.

  I feel like she’s the queen of everything.

  “What do you think? Are we fashionably late?” Raynes quips.

  “I think we are perfectly late. Looks like they’re really going for it, doesn’t it?”

  “Do you think the toilets inside are gold?”

  “I don’t know, but if the inside looks anything like the outside, I think I’m never leaving. You might have to drag me out.”

  (Or I’ll drag you out, because you’ll be dead.)

  Oleg walks behind us as we make our grand entrance. Although it’s not much of an entrance because everyone is too busy having the time of their life. Seriously, these Russians are not fooling around. No droll looks and rolling of eyes around here. These people are really going for it. Partying like the world is ending.

  Across the throngs of arms in the air, lights, confetti, and lithe lady acrobats on giant thin crimson velvet curtains doing gravity-defying tricks, there is Uri. He is, of course, in full hip-hop attire and surrounded by adoring throngs.

  “Ah, there he is.”

  I take Raynes by the hand, leading him to Uri, hoping to lose Oleg in the bacchanalian masses. I don’t see Katerina, but that’s a good thing. Between Oleg and Katerina, Raynes could be nabbed at any time. I have to keep him close. I have to keep him in full view of everyone.

  Until I don’t.

  Until I kill him.

  (Until I can find some way out of killing him.)

  (Look, I don’t know what I’m doing, okay? The jury is still behind closed doors, and that door is locked. Everyone can just stand outside waiting.)

  Uri sees us and yells over the music.

  “My friends! You see! Little party for birthday!”

  “Yes. I see! Very little party! Uri, this is Sean Raynes; Sean Raynes, this is Uri. This modest little soiree is to celebrate his birth. In case you were confused, although he is not actually Jesus Christ.”

  “No, I am rap star! Well, not yet. But someday . . .”

  “You want a drink?” Raynes is about to walk off to the bar.

  “No, wait! I’ll go with you!”

  “It’s okay, you can stay here and talk to the birthday boy.”

  “No, no, no. I have very elaborate drink tastes. Very specific. It’d be way too complicated to explain, so—”

  Raynes is staring at me. He’s thinking that I’m acting weird because I am acting weird. I really need to work on duplicity. I am horrendous at it.

  We part with Uri and head for the bar.

  Just in time to see Katerina.

  Okay, looks like I don’t have much time. I better speed it up. Before Oleg or Katerina kidnaps him and ships him to Siberia, or the gulag, or wherever it is the FSB ships people off to so they can do illegal, invisible torture to them.

  God I don’t want to do this God I don’t want to do this God I don’t want to do this.

  “You know, do you think we could get some air? It’s kind of insane in here. I think I’m getting claustrophobic.”

  “Sure. You don’t want to get an elaborate drink that’s too complicated for me to remember, first?”

  “No, I definitely need to get some air. It’s, like, a physical reaction I have to enclosed spaces swarming with people. Also, I think I might be allergic to the confetti.”

  Raynes raises an eyebrow.

  “All right.”

  We are just about to make it out the back door. The idea is that the gun is strategically placed under this picturesque white outdoor gazebo in the snow. I’m supposed to lead Raynes over there, casually drop something, grab the gun, and shoot my boyfriend.

  Simple, right?

  I can feel my chest tightening and the air, much thinner up here, not wanting to have anything to do with me. Just breathe, Paige. Try not to get ahead of yourself.

  We come out the back, the cold air whooshing in past us, and I see the white gazebo. A fairy-tale picture in the snow.

  “Oh, how cool! Look at that gazebo!”

  This is my oh-so-not-subtle way of steering him over there.

  Except.

  He doesn’t reply. I guess he doesn’t like gazebos. Or cold. Or snow. Or murder attempts. Or else maybe he didn’t hear me. Or else maybe he didn’t hear me because he’s not behind me.

  Oh.

  Right.

  Yeah.

  He’s not behind me.

  In fact, he’s not anywhere to be seen.

  10

  “Paige!”

  It’s coming from down below, from what I’m assuming is the servant’s quarters, or the maid’s quarters, or the serf’s quarters, or whatever passage it is the oppressed people use to go in and out.

  There’s a stone walkway leading down to the cellar, and the footsteps echo out from there.

  Using the magic of my phone, I shine a light down the cellar, where there seems to be some kind of underground passageway. It’s actually pretty gross in here, but I’m choosing not to focus on that right now. Also, sidebar, phones make really good flashlights, but the reverse is not true.

  There he is. Oleg, of course, dragging a half-conscious Raynes out with him. I guess he must have clocked him after he yelled out to me. Bastard!

  I’m gonna get this guy.

  Here in the shadows . . . he kind of looks like Ted Cruz. And honestly, that just makes my job that much easier.

  As is my habit, I start seeing myself from above again or, in this case, the musty stone ceiling above us. It’s okay, I think you’re probably getting used to it by now.

  I watch myself take a running start to tackle him, and that works pretty well, until he flips me over. He used my momentum against me. I should’ve known better, honestly. That’s like Karate 101. My dojo master would be shaking his head.

  Raynes uses the opportunity, even in his half daze, to shove Oleg into the wall.

  Thank God. This gives me an opportunity to get up and, somehow, energized by the incredible pain just bestowed upon my back, unleash everything I learned on the Muay Thai mat, right there in front of Raynes. Who had no idea. He probably thought I was some kind of shrinking violet.

  I guess they don’t teach the art of the eight limbs at FSB. Or, if they do, Oleg is rusty. It’s a sort of sequence of moves. Counter Oleg’s right cross with a Thai jab coming over his punch. Counter a left hook with a cover and follow with the left elbow. Roundhouse kick. At this point Oleg is supremely annoyed. I try to finish off this whole escapade with a reverse roundhouse kick, but Oleg doesn’t like being beat up by a girl, so he summons every last bit of his strength to throw me against the wall.

  And that works.

  So now there are Tweety Birds again, but it doesn’t matter.

  I’m getting to know these Tweety Birds pretty well lately.

  Never fear, mon ami. Yes, Oleg has brute strength, but I have the art of the eight limbs.

  So, a new sequence: right elbow, step-up knee strike, roundhouse kick, and, finally, a cobra punch . . . otherwise known as a superman punch. These are all not nice things to do to anyone. Even your worst enemy. But I guess Oleg is applying for the job.

  And he isn’t happy right now.

  And by “isn’t happy right now” I mean “is on the ground, whimpering.”

  See. Here’s the thing. He’s extremely strong. There is no doubt. And he did manage to land a couple of blows that are going to take some ice and make me look like a street urchin for the next three weeks. I know that.

  But I think I studied harde
r at my dojo.

  You see, practice makes perfect.

  And now we know. Oleg isn’t as tough as we thought.

  That really is a lesson, isn’t it? Just because someone has a black leather jacket and a mean scowl does not mean that they are the Terminator.

  Honestly, he’s three times slower than Katerina. Who, praise the Lord and pass the cornflakes, is nowhere to be found.

  Then I would really be in trouble. I definitely could not take Oleg and Katerina at the same time. I’m nowhere near that good.

  “Paige?! Where did you—”

  “C’mon. This way. We don’t have much time.”

  I grab him and lead him out, back into the snow. Back next to, yes, the fateful white gazebo.

  “Um, where did you learn how to fight like that?”

  But now I’m crouched down, looking for the planted gun.

  Sidebar: I really wish they would have given me anything but a gun. A poison dart maybe. A laser blaster. A lightsaber. Anything.

  But no. Had to be a dumb, annoying, phallic, stupid, loser gun.

  “Can I ask you a question?” This is it; my last chance for an out. “If you had to do something on principle, but people could maybe die, would probably die . . . would you do it?”

  “I guess it depends on the principle.” He shrugs.

  Still looking for the gun. Still looking for an out.

  “Well, what if you knew people would die, but it was a really important principle?”

  “Yes. I would.”

  Fuck.

  Well, there goes that chance.

  Ah! And there is the gun. Right on time.

  “Why are you asking?”

  But now I’m up, pointing the gun at him. “Because I’ve been hiding something from you.”

  “Jesus! Paige! What the fuck?!”

  “Why the hell would you ever release that list? Seriously. Why the hell do you have to do something so destructive? So heartless?”

  “What list?”

  “Don’t play dumb. I know all about it. The list. The RAITH operatives.”

  “Paige, RAITH is illegal. It is an illegal, unconstitutional spy agency that is beholden to no one. It has to be exposed. You know what the fall of the Roman Empire looked like? Secrets. Secret trials. People taken away in the middle of the night for no reason. With no trial. No due process. Paranoia. Suspicion. Fearmongering. Sound familiar?”

  “People will die. Horrible deaths.”

  “Isn’t that the price of liberty?”

  “Liberty? At what point does liberty become your folly? Your vanity project? Your attempt at fame, or maintaining your fame? Are you sure this isn’t some narcissistic attempt to solidify yourself in the international canon? Have you really thought about this? Not romantically. But with your fucking soul? Because I know you, or I thought I knew you. And this? This kind of blind disregard for human life? For the people left behind? For their children? It’s not you. It’s not the you I know. It’s not the you I fell in love with.”

  Raynes is looking at me, and that last part . . . that last couple of sentences . . . I feel like I got through. Maybe.

  We stand there, our breath in puffs in the freezing air.

  “Look, I think I can save you. But you can’t release the list.”

  “You know it will be released if you kill me. You know there’s a backup.”

  “Sorry. There’s no backup.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “The flash drive? I figured it out.”

  “Sure.”

  “Monument Valley.”

  The expression on his face changes. I wouldn’t think he could have gotten any paler, but somehow it’s possible.

  “Paige. What have you done?”

  “I’ve saved people’s fucking lives is what I’ve done! And I can save your life, too. If you come with me, I can get you out of this goddamned country, because you’re dead here. You’re dead practically everywhere. Your only hope is to come home. I can get you home. But you can’t release the list.”

  “Paige, I’ll go to jail at home. I’ll spend the rest of my life looking at a fucking concrete wall. You know that.”

  “Would you literally rather die? Because they’re gonna kill you here! They’re gonna torture you, they’re gonna get the list, and anything else you might have, and kill you. Oleg. The FSB. They’re gonna make it look like you died here. Tonight. And you’re never gonna see the light of day again. And you’re gonna wish you were dead. Look. Just tell me you’re not gonna release the list and I’ll figure it out. I won’t have to kill you.”

  We share a moment. The gun still trained on him. The snow beginning to fall in pristine, gentle snowflakes that have nothing to do with killing or death or worldwide conspiracies.

  “I can save you, Raynes. Just give me a chance.”

  “I can’t do it, Paige. I’m sorry.”

  “Not as sorry as me.”

  I raise the gun and take a deep breath.

  “You better make peace with whatever you have to make peace with.”

  It might look to some people like there’s something, some water welling up in the sides of my eyes. But I’m tough. I can do this. All I have to do is think of my mother. Think of my father. My family. Our little sweet family that gives to charity and shops at the organic market together and packs Christmas boxes for the homeless in December. All I have to do is think about our little family and how I want that little family back, along with kindness and organic soap and random paintings my mom buys from street artists while my dad shakes his head.

  And now I’m crying. My entire face is covered in tears and it’s freezing and all I want is my family back, my life back and not to be here in the middle of this bone-chilling Russian night with a gun pointed at someone who I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with but kind of fell in love with.

  He looks back up at me. An almost imperceptible nod.

  This is it.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  I say it through tears.

  BANG.

  The shot comes faster than I thought. It rings out through the trees. But it’s not Raynes that drops.

  It’s me.

  11

  The shot hits me square in the chest and lands me on the ground, snow two feet all around me.

  Raynes looks down in shock and then sees Oleg, hobbling across the snow, heading toward him.

  “RUN!”

  “But I can’t just leave you here—”

  “Fucking run!”

  And Raynes takes off into the trees. It’s nice to know he was a gentleman about that. Very polite.

  I know you’re wondering if I’m dead now. If this whole thing has been a posthumous monologue from beyond the grave. Please don’t cry. I’m fine. No, really. Madden wouldn’t let me go to the party without a bulletproof vest. I tried to talk him out of it because it wasn’t very flattering. Let’s just be honest, something like that is hard to carry off. But he insisted. And now I’m glad he insisted. It’s just annoying that I’m going to have to tell him he was right.

  Welp, I could lie here making snow angels all day, except Raynes is being pursued into the forest by Oleg, who basically looks like a lumbering zombie in a leather jacket.

  I get to see all this from my view in the snow, so it’s kind of sideways. A snow half frame and then a half-turned forest with Raynes running one way and Oleg running after him, shooting.

  I have to get up any time now, and I keep telling my body to do just that, but my body isn’t listening. My chest is pounding and it felt like, you know what it felt like? It felt like someone hit me as hard as they could in the chest with a hammer. So I’ll just watch here from my leisurely sideways recline in the snow.

  The problem is that Oleg, despite his uneven footing, seems to be gaining on poor ol’ Raynes. That’s the thing about these computer geniuses. You get the feeling they all got an F in gym.

  Before I know it, two new figures enter my tilted frame
, and just like that, one of those figures takes aim and shoots—at Oleg. Who falls to the ground. And stays there. I’m not sure if he got issued a bulletproof vest from FSB. It doesn’t really look like it. But I’ll keep an eye on him.

  One of these men is old and bald, walking slower. The other, in hot pursuit, is the one who shot Oleg. You know who it is, right?

  Yup. You guessed it.

  Uri’s mobbed-up father, Dimitri, and his favorite sidekick, Underling.

  Underling is a lot faster than anyone so far in this here relay, and he catches up to Raynes quickly, tackles him, and then that’s that.

  So now the mobsters have Raynes.

  Jesus.

  My body finally decides to acquiesce, and I get up slowly. I’m dusting myself off, about to run after Raynes and his two new best friends, when something whooshes past me on the right.

  “What the—?”

  Oh, great. There’s Katerina on a snowmobile flying across the snow toward the lot of them.

  That’s right. How could I forget? FSB wants Raynes dead. Katerina works for FSB. Katerina is after Raynes, too. To kill him. Before he leaves Russia.

  Check.

  I guess Christmas Eve is officially over.

  “Are you serious right now?”

  I look up to the heavens above, but no answer.

  12

  My sorry self is hobbling across the snow just in time to see Underling point and shoot.

  BLAM!

  Katerina’s snowmobile takes a hit, sending her flying to the ground. She rolls off into the snowdrift.

  Now Dimitri and Underling are free to steal Raynes with abandon.

  I hobble-run over to Katerina, who lies there recovering in the snow.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, wonderful.”

  “Well, you don’t have to be sarcastic.”

  “Yes, I do. I was born this way.”

  “Okay, well, I think you should just stay here now, okay? You might be hurt.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She immediately kicks me off my feet and goes running after Raynes, Dimitri, and Underling.

  “You bitch! That really was not very nice.”

  Katerina is running off into the snow. “Nice is for talk show and day care.”